The Gay Adventure: A Romance
handshaking followed. "The wretch!" she thought. "Some of his wicked
friends, I suppose!" A few moments later she joined them. They looked at
her with interest, and she returned the gaze unflinchingly--an iron
woman. Beatrice came forward. "Mrs. Hedderwick, I think we have met
before."
It must be admitted that Mrs. Hedderwick behaved well. There was every
excuse for a scene, and no possible excuse (unless one know his dull
life) for Robert. Mrs. Hedderwick merely looked coldly at Beatrice and
said, "We have, but I prefer not to remember it." Then she turned to her
husband, "Come, Robert!"
Mr. Hedderwick was pale, but determined. Tony's reassuring and
stimulating words, together with a short breathing-space, had put
courage into him. Besides, during the last minute he had conceived an
idea. So, though he trembled internally, his voice was calm enough as he
replied, "Alicia, I am not coming just yet."
Tony took Beatrice by the arm. "This isn't our scene," he whispered. She
obeyed the hint; and she, Lionel, Tony and Billing retired a few yards
to the aeroplane, out of ear-shot. "Is it fair to leave him?" asked
Beatrice; "he looked very frightened, poor little man!"
"Yes--yes!" said Tony decidedly; "he must do this on his own--sink or
swim. I think he'll be all right, now that I've stiffened him. Let him
alone."
Mrs. Hedderwick appreciated the withdrawal, but it did not soften her
mood. "What do you mean, Robert?" she said coldly. "You are my husband,
though you did desert me cruelly. You must come."
"I come on conditions," said Robert stoutly, though his knees were
quaking. "I mean to be master of the house in future--to do exactly what
I like and when I like--to go to Brighton, if I choose----"
"Don't be absurd," said Mrs. Hedderwick.
"I mean what I say," he reiterated. "I'm--I'm still very fond of you,
Alicia, but I must be master----"
"Don't be absurd," said Mrs. Hedderwick, still unmoved. "You will come
home with me to-night."
She advanced and took his arm in a wifely grasp. Robert, feeling the
chains imminent, resolved to play his last card. It was his sole
remaining hope of freedom. Bruskly he freed his arm. Then with
incredible agility he ran to the aeroplane and scrambled into the
pilot's seat. "Now, then!" he said grimly; "you admit that _I_ am to be
head, and I'll come down. Otherwise I'll start this infernal machine. I
don't much care what happens."
"Robert!" screamed his wife, shaken out of her composure. "Oh, Robert!
come down!"
"Not till you promise!" he said, fumbling at unaccustomed levers. "Here,
sir! how do you start it?"
"You fool!" shouted Billing, alarmed, as chance directed Robert to the
object of his search. "Stand clear!" he screamed, fearing the propeller
would start and hit the bystanders. He pulled Beatrice aside, and Tony
did the same for Mrs. Hedderwick. "Stop it, you fool! No!--the other
lever! The machine will be up in a minute."
"Promise!" screamed Robert, like one possessed. He was playing for life
now, and was past caring.
"I--I promise!" wailed Mrs. Hedderwick, as the propeller began to move,
and then at last Robert obeyed the frantic instructions of Billing and
stopped the engine. He descended with all the honors of war.
"You will excuse us," he said with a pale smile, taking Mrs. Hedderwick
by the arm. "We are stopping at The Happy Heart to-night. Perhaps,
to-morrow...."
He retired at the right moment, his wife beneath his manly protecting
arm. "There! there!" he whispered soothingly as they walked off; "it's
all right now, my love! You mustn't be frightened."
"Oh, Robert!" said Mrs. Hedderwick. "How could you--how _could_ you do
it! I--I didn't know you had it in you!"
Robert expanded a hero's chest.
"My dear, love is proverbially blind."
CHAPTER XXVI
THE USUAL THING
Beatrice and the three men watched the passing of the Hedderwicks in
amused silence. When they had disappeared from view Billing said, "Well,
that's done ... and now, Miss Blair, I'm really going."
"Me, too," said Tony lightly. "I mean to have a shy for that
seven-thirty train."
"Then you're determined?" said Beatrice to both men. Billing nodded with
a smiling melancholy. Tony smiled more cheerfully. Though this interview
with Miss Arkwright in the afternoon had opened his eyes, he was not so
hard hit as the air-man: things had not had time to go so far.
"I'll just wait and see the machine start," he said. "Then ho! for the
station and prosaic London once more!"
"If you like," said Billing, "I'll take you back to Brooklands with me.
This is a two-seater. Unless you've a bad head for heights."
"I've fallen from too many to mind," said Tony ruefully. "My biggest
drop occurred this afternoon. Thanks very much. If you'll give me time
to collar a coat and a rug, I'm your man."
He ran off, leaving them chatting, but he was back in a very short time
bearing the necessary articles. "I bagged the first I could lay hands
on," he explained, getting into the overcoat. "I hope nobody----"
"Er--the coat happens to be mine," said Lionel pointedly. He liked Tony
very well, but could hardly stomach so unblushing a theft. "Sorry, old
chap, but I may want----"
Tony put both hands on his shoulders and gazed deep into his eyes.
"Little man," he said calmly, "listen to your wise old uncle. You
_won't_ want it. Take it from me that you _won't_ want it. I'll send it
back to-morrow. That will be in heaps of time."
"Time for what?" said the puzzled Lionel, smiling out of sheer sympathy
with the quizzical glance. "Oh, well--take it and be hanged to you!"
"Thanks," said Tony. Then he took off his cap and advanced to Beatrice.
"Good-by!" he said brightly. "Thanks a thousand times. I'll send you a
picture post-card announcing my safe arrival."
"And another to say when you've started work!" said Beatrice, smiling a
little mistily. "Don't forget that!"
"I start on Monday," he replied. "Don't know what it will be
yet--perhaps aeroplanes, perhaps politics, possibly poultry farming. But
it's going to materialize. Good-by, and--the very best!"
Billing, who had said good-by, was already in the pilot's seat. "Come
on!" he grunted mournfully, knowing he was bidding farewell to hopes
managerial as well as amatory. Tony climbed up behind him and tucked the
rug well round. "Let her go!" he said cheerfully. In obedience to the
order Lionel gave the propeller a swing, the engine started, and in a
few seconds the aeroplane began to run swiftly over the ground.
Beatrice drew close to Lionel and put her arm through his. It seemed
such a natural thing that he felt no surprise whatever, but only a
tumultuous happiness. Together they stood watching the machine as it
took the air and soared up in the magic of mechanical flight. They waved
a final adieu, and Tony flourished his cap.
"What would you say," shouted Billing when they had risen a hundred
feet, "if I let her drop suddenly?"
"Shouldn't have cared a week ago," shouted Tony in return; "you mustn't
now."
Billing grunted unintelligibly and gave his undivided attention to the
pilotage....
On the dull earth below Beatrice and Lionel were walking silently toward
the house. They were still arm in arm, but no word was spoken till they
had reached the shelter of the garden. Then Lionel stopped and took her
by the hands. "Ah, Beatrice!" he said.
"Not yet! Not yet!" she breathed, holding back and inflaming his passion
the more. "Wait a little! You mustn't say anything yet! Let us approach
it sensibly and in a rational balanced mood if we can." She broke from
him and laughed merrily. "Let us go in and have dinner first. Afterward,
we can talk in the garden."
"Tell me one thing," he said impetuously, "and I will be patient. Was
there ever a Lukos?"
"I will tell you two things," she said, laughing a little wildly. "You
ought to know them before you speak. With them you must be content for
an hour. There was no Lukos, and Miss Arkwright and I are the same
creature."
He had suspected it a hundred times, and a hundred times he had found
fresh evidence to discredit the suspicion. He knew it must be true,
though he could not grasp it yet. But he did not care. The fact that he
had been hoodwinked and made a plaything did not trouble him in the
least. All he was conscious of was that she was free. He laughed
quietly, now completely master of himself.
"That will do to go on with," he said; "now let us be sensible, as you
suggest, and have dinner."
The meal was a great success, despite the presence of Forbes, who
hovered about them like a benignant and sympathetic butterfly. Lionel
could hardly help smiling at him, remembering his recent slip and the
sudden recovery of speech. Forbes seemed entirely unconscious, handing
the plates with an air that was almost fatherly; and Lionel regretted
the obvious necessity of his dismissal in the roseate and
fast-approaching millennium. He was not impatient now, perfectly
disposed to laugh, eat, drink, be merry and take a fair share in the
conversation that sparkled between them. It was a talk as of old, when
they spoke freely and lightly of surface themes--the play, the latest
book, the morning's news--the clash of wit and opinion sounding bravely
through the room.
They smoked a cigarette each over their coffee, but still the talk was
of mundane matters, though neither was ill at ease. There is a telepathy
of souls that can send true messages beneath the cover of human speech.
At last Beatrice said, "Let us go into the garden," and he rose briskly
at the command. She allowed him to help her with her cloak, and then
said, laughing: "But Tony has your coat! What will you do?"
"I shan't need one," he replied. "It's a lovely night."
"You will," she insisted. "I can't have you catching cold. I'll tell
Forbes----"
"No, really," he protested, and threw open the door. "See, what a
glorious night it is! There's not the least need."
She did not press the point, for indeed it was a night for lovers. There
was not a breath of wind in the air, no sound of the works of man to mar
the stillness. From a distant field came the dim wheezing of a
corn-crake; nearer at hand a nightingale was beginning his epithalamic
welcome. A light dew was falling, but nothing to hurt a lover and his
lass, full of health and joyousness. The trees did not even sigh a
greeting: the solemn hush made them imagine that nature herself was
holding her breath in friendly expectation, waiting to hear the old tale
in the newest words, ready to break out into a chorus of free
congratulation. Already Lionel could hear the leaves whispering the gay
tidings, every blade of grass passing on the news, the grasshoppers and
glowworms waking their more sleepy fellows to tell them Beatrice was
here and had said she loved him, the birds waiting happily in their
nests till the first kiss sounded, and then tucking in their heads with
a jolly "So _that's_ all right at last!" He wanted to say "Thank you" to
the world of beasts and trees and flowers, and presently to the world of
men and women.
"Smoke, do!" said Beatrice, as he dragged a couple of the chairs upon
the gravel. "And don't interrupt more than you can help. I'll tell you
the essential facts as shortly as I can. Details we can talk over
later ... if there is to be a 'later.'"
He lighted a cigarette and was silent.
"Most of the tale I told you," she began abruptly, "was all lies. Some
was true. I was, for instance, well-off as regards money, when I was
left an orphan at sixteen. I was brought up by some hateful relations
and launched two years later. I got sick of society in a couple of
years, and cut it for pleasanter paths. I tried painting, but it bored
me. Then the stage--that part was true--and made a success....